Secret Scoop
by sylph-feather
Summary: A talk show ghost should NOT be this scary.


When Danny's blue breath announces yet another ghost, he's undisturbed albeit exasperated. If he knew what this ghost _was, _he would be— but instead when he sees the peckish, blue skinned woman… he just laughs.

She claps her thin hands, too bright smile glittering on her face over dagger sharp teeth, faux red hair bouncing in an over the top excited motion. "A guest!" she chirps creepily.

Danny eyes her, floating with trusty thermos in hand. "Whatever," he says eloquently, firing a beam from the thing.

The lady's blood red lips pull down in a frown as she easily twirls around the beam. "I get such an interesting interview and he just says _whatever?" _She pouts childishly. "Come on, Phantom— surely we can do better than _that." _

Danny just stared at her more, lamenting about how it could never be _that easy _internally.

The woman huffed, stomping a cherry red heel on air, then attempted to start again: "I'm Ex_boo_sé," she greets, then materializes a purple microphone to speak into. "Why don't you tell me a little about yourself, Phantom? It's not everyday a girl like me gets to meet such a rogueish charmer like yourself—"

She is interrupted by a guffaw Danny had been holding in. "I'm sorry," he sniggers, clearly not sorry— "your name is just _so bad." _

The awfully named Ex_boo_sé does another stomp of her heel, looking a great deal more irritated. "If you won't cooperate, I have ways of making you talk," she snaps. Her fake, over the top friendly appearance is marred by glowing red eyes, slightly flaming red hair, and bared teeth.

Once again, Danny just eyes her doubtfully, too used to empty threats. "What are you gonna do?" he questions, fiddling with the thermos and charging it for another shot. "Hit me with your microphone?"

"Something like that," she agrees, pulling the thing up to her lips and _screaming into it. _

xXx

When Danny comes to, he's sitting on a cozy chair and facing a desk where Ex_boo_sé confidently lounges. He tilts his head, seeing the end of a shiny floor— a stage?— that opens up to a multitude of plush red chairs. Stage lights shine in his eyes as he looks out at the people who fill those chairs, which looks to be the entirety of Amity Park.

Something in him has the niggling sense that perhaps he should be worried, but Danny shrugs it off and looks for familiar faces in the sea of a crowd.

His parents smile at him, and Danny waves a gloved hand, shifting in the plush chair a bit. They wave back. He feels at ease.

"Aw," Ex_boo_sé begins, and even with that one syllable all attention is drawn to her. "A touching family bond," she purrs. Danny laughs good naturedly— he's not sure what he finds funny. It's merely out of some odd _obligation, _like he _should_ laugh, so he does.

"I love 'em," he says happily, from that same sense of obligation. He smiles vaguely where some sense tells him a camera is— but nothing is there.

"So, Phantom, tell me more about them, then!" Ex_boo_sé draws him from that sense of tranquility.

The urge comes back, and this time it's _answer— _so he does. "They're ghost hunters," he starts, smiling as though that doesn't terrify him, as though it didn't alienate him when he was younger. Smiles as though he was so proud, always so proud.

He's not. Something in him twinges with some sense of _disgust. _Danny brushes it away as Ex_boo_sé faux-sympathetically croons, "oh, baby, that must be rough." The audience gives its own synced _aw, _and Maddie and Jack look contrite and cartoonishly shame faced from their seats.

"You can't choose family," Danny settles on generically, shrugging and grinning goofily.

"Truth," Ex_boo_sé agrees, clapping and looking as though Danny had said something profound and not the most stock phrase of the century. The audience mirrors her, clapping in perfect rhythm together.

Another strange sense of dread washes over Danny.

"Tell me more," the ghost continues, leaning in interestedly as though she were not being sympathetic to Danny's plight mere moments ago.

"Well, they're very good inventors," Danny says. "They love me very much," he adds, non sequitur. There's something tugging inside him to release more… but Danny's never been a very profound, deep-thought kind of person. He attempts to appease it with something juicy nonetheless— "you know, they don't even know I'm a ghost," he whispers conspiratorially.

From their seats, Maddie and Jack comically place their hands over their mouths. Ex_boo_sé echoes them with a stunned gasp. "What a secret to keep from your own family, you rascal!" she caws joyously.

Danny grins, this time playing a bad boy act. Leaning back and shrugging casually, he gives a confident, "I know!"

Something in the act falters when Danny looks at his parents again. They're still acting comically surprised, but something about them twists his stomach in knots.

He is suddenly, acutely aware of the _wrongness. _A pinprick of fear breaks through— "crap," he blurts, _off script_, "they weren't supposed to know that."

Ex_boo_sé's smile tightens— "it's alright, sweetie. The truth has a way of finding a way out around here." The audience claps hollowly. "We all need a little honesty in our lives," she preaches cockily, spinning her chair a bit.

Danny's head feels like it's spinning the same as the chair. "No," he says, but can't continue beyond repetitions of that single word. Ex_boo_sé looks half worried, half annoyed.

"Darling we don't have time for a nervous breakdown on the set," she informs flippantly.

"They know," is all Danny says.

"Ugh, yes, get with the program."

Green eyes shoot up to her, and he slides slowly out of the seat. The heaviness and fake happiness are quickly eaten up by Danny's fear and rage.

Ex_boo_sé squeaks— "sit down!" A wave of drug like tranquility crashes over Danny. He fights to outswim it, stepping closer to her desk. With each panicked squealed command, Danny takes one step closer without fully grasping himself.

He blinks, and suddenly his blazing hand is against blistering blue skin. Ex_boo_sé's throat hovers mere inches away from the flame, crackling in the cool-heat.

As Ex_boo_sé makes a panicked croak, a sound with no articulation yet clearly a _beg, _a _plea_, Danny pulls away in disgust and his hand dies down. He shakes away the last of the dredges of _script_ and floatiness from his mind, hand to his head.

Then memories come back, and he nearly collapses— but then he straightens, eyes once against blazing.

Ex_boo_sé rubs her throat with one hand and puts the other up in surrender. She then motions towards the audience.

...Except there is no audience. It is empty, desolate.

"What did you do to everyone?!" Danny growls.

The blue skinned ghost squeaks— "there was nobody there in the first place! They were just stage props!"

Danny's shoulders sag in relief, and he feels like crying.

"Get in the thermos," he orders tightly instead. Ex_boo_sé nods contritely.

(Well, at least she got _something _of a scoop).


End file.
